


Traditions Old and New

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Octavia always spend Christmas at their cabin in the mountains, but this year Clarke Griffin is joining them and Bellamy's not sure how he feels about that.  Or her, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traditions Old and New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLastConfessor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastConfessor/gifts).



> Just in case it isn't clear from the text:
> 
> Lolo: grandfather in Tagalog
> 
> Kuya: big brother in Tagalog

“Don’t be mad,” Octavia started, picking at her leftover pizza crust.  “But Lincoln and I invited Clarke for Christmas.”

 

Bellamy swallowed down a surge of annoyance.  “Why would I be mad about that?” he asked, hoping he kept the anger out of his voice.

 

Octavia rolled her eyes at him.  “Because you were super grumpy when I brought Lincoln last year,” she pointed out.

 

“Clarke doesn’t even like Christmas,” Bellamy replied, ignoring Octavia’s barb.  “Wasn’t that her whole thing with Lexa?  They deliberately refused to do anything.”

 

“She said she wants to try it this year,” Octavia wheedled.  “And her mom is going to St. Barts or something, so we...offered.”  Bellamy frowned and reached for another slice of pizza and Octavia plowed ahead.  “Besides, you guys have been getting along so well lately, so I thought…”

 

“It’s fine,” he interjected.  “Really.  I’m not mad.”  It was the truth, but Octavia didn’t look like she believed him.  He couldn’t fault her for being nervous though, since he and Clarke had spent the better part of a year snarling and hissing at each other over answers to bar trivia.  It was only in the past six months or so that they had even become something resembling friends.

 

Octavia eyed him warily.  “Okay, well, you’re sure you’re okay with it?  You’re not going to go all sullen on me when she shows up?”

 

“Nope,” he said around a mouthful of pizza.  “I swear.  Does she need a ride?”

 

“I gave her the directions to Lolo’s cabin.  She said she’d drive up herself.”

 

“She can handle the mountains?” Bellamy asked.

 

Octavia rolled her eyes again.  “She’s an adult with a driver’s license, Bell.  She can handle it just fine.”

 

“So when does Lincoln’s flight get in?” Bellamy asked, changing the subject slightly.

 

“Afternoon of the 23rd.  That should give us enough time to get Lolo’s cabin decorated before I head back down to get him.”

 

“Isn’t it supposed to snow that day?”

 

She shrugged.  “I’ll take your car then.  And it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it— his flight gets in when it gets in, and he had to stay with his aunt until the 22nd.  It’ll be fine, kuya.  Stop stressing.”

 

Bellamy let it drop and Octavia changed the subject to the case she was working on, but he had a hard time following.  Octavia was right that he and Clarke were getting along now, but “teammates that manage to not tear each other’s heads off every time they see each other” and “friends who can spend the biggest holiday of the year together in a secluded cabin” were fairly different categories.  But what was done was done, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

 

***

 

Christmas was Bellamy’s all-time favorite holiday.  You wouldn’t expect it— he generally adopted the attitude expected of a poor kid with a chip on his shoulder— but Christmas was his one exception to surliness.  

 

It started, like most things in his life did, with Octavia.  By the time she was old enough to understand Christmas he’d figured out the whole Santa thing was a lie, so his mother tasked him with being Santa for Octavia.  He loved picking out presents for her every year, and staying up late with his mom on Christmas Eve to wrap them and put them under the tree.  Even more than that, he loved the sparkle in her eyes when she woke him up excited on Christmas morning and they would tip-toe downstairs to see what awaited them.  They never had much, but on Christmas it felt like enough.

 

Octavia figured out he was Santa when she was eight and he was fourteen, but by then the traditions were set.  After their mother died Octavia surprised him with presents at the foot of his bed ( _just like in Harry Potter, Bell, duh_ ) on Christmas morning, and thus a new tradition was born.  It was two years after that that Bellamy’s lolo died and left him the cabin in the mountains.  At first, he didn’t know what to do with it; they had only been up there a handful of times with his mother and father before his father died, and even though Lolo had always treated Octavia like his own granddaughter, things between him and their mother had been strained for years even before Octavia arrived as proof that his mother had moved on.  After Lolo’s stroke the visits to to the cabin stopped and Bellamy had assumed it was sold to pay for his nursing home bills.  But a lawyer called a few weeks after the funeral to let him know that as Lolo’s sole heir, the cabin was now his.

 

He considered selling it— the money would help pay for Octavia’s tuition— but in the end, he couldn’t. Bellamy had so little in the way of permanent reminders of his family; they had always rented their apartments, and most of his mother’s things were shabby and not worth saving, aside from her wedding ring and some costume jewelry he gave to O.  The cabin was something real and tangible, something that said _you belong here_.  Lolo had been so proud of the cabin too, as proof that he’d fought so hard to give his family a better life in an unfamiliar land.  So Bellamy kept it and rented it out to tourists in the summer.  The income was nice, and it meant they had somewhere that was really and truly theirs.  It was Octavia’s idea to use it for Christmas and Bellamy had to admit, it was a stroke of genius on her part.  The cabin was in the middle of several acres of pine forest which meant he could cut down a fresh tree for them and collect boughs for decoration.  She still sometimes teased him about how all-out he went for Christmas, but he knew she loved it as much as he did.

 

Bellamy was busy dragging the decorations from the cobwebby basement when Clarke arrived at the cabin.  He heard Octavia run out to meet her and the floorboards above his head shuddered as they stomped their feet clear of snow.  “O, I can’t find your old nativity set,” he called as he emerged from the basement, a box of handmade angels and snowflakes clutched in his hands.

 

She rolled her eyes at him.  “That’s because I hid it last year.  It’s ugly and I don’t know why you always want to put it out.”

 

“You were so proud of it when you made it though,” Bellamy protested, sending Clarke a friendly nod.

 

Octavia made a disgusted noise.  “I was also seven, Bell.  Please.  Just don’t bring it out this year, okay?”

 

“Fine, but I’m hanging up your snowflakes,” he retorted and set the box down on the kitchen table.

 

“Um, hey,” Clarke interrupted, toeing off her boots.  “Thanks for inviting me— this place is great.”

 

“Any time,” he said, maybe a little sharper than he intended.  It was weird to see Clarke like this— in a place that was his and Octavia’s alone. But he’d promised not to act like she was intruding, so he had to handle it.

 

Octavia grabbed her keys from the side table and nodded to Bellamy.  “I should get going though, if I’m going to make it to the airport by the time Linc’s flight gets in.  Play nice, kuya,” she warned Bellamy, and with a quick hug she was out the door, leaving him to stand in awkward silence in front of Clarke.

 

“Uh, sorry about that.  She doesn’t always trust me to behave around her friends,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

 

“Her friends?  I thought we were friends,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

 

Bellamy couldn’t help but grin at the look on her face.  “Teammates, maybe.”

 

“Acquaintances?” she offered.

 

“Acquaintances on exceptionally good terms,” Bellamy said and for the space of a few heartbeats they just stood there, grinning at each other.  “Here, I’ll take your bags,” he said, because he had an odd feeling he was going to start blushing.

 

Clarke furrowed her brow when he led to her to the bedroom in the back.  “I figured I’d have the couch,” she said.  “Since I’m kind of third-wheeling it and all.”

 

“I’ll take the couch,” Bellamy said and shook his head when she opened her mouth to protest.  “I mean it.  No arguing.”  He set down her suitcases with an air of finality.

 

Clarke’s mouth snapped shut and she nodded, following him back out to the living room.  “By the way, what was that that Octavia called you?”

 

“Kuya?  It means big brother in Tagalog,” he explained.

 

“But isn’t she—”

 

“Not Filipina?  Yeah, but my grandfather taught me some and she wanted to learn it too.  We don’t use much anymore, but kuya kind of stuck.  Especially when we’re up here.”

 

“Kuya,” Clarke repeated, smiling a little.  “I like it.”

 

Bellamy decided to change the subject before he said something stupid, like _I don’t want you to think of me like a brother_ , so he just shrugged.  “I need to get some wood chopped before the snow really starts coming down,” he said instead, and turned on his heel and marched outside, only pausing to grab his gloves.

 

Splitting the wood did not distract him like he’d hoped, because he kept remembering that moment over the summer; the moment where he went from thinking Clarke was frighteningly good at trivia but annoyingly bad at keeping her opinions to herself to thinking she was...something else.

 

***

Raven had texted him in a panic over the Fourth of July, begging him to go check on Clarke.   _She and Lexa broke up and she kind of takes break ups hard and since you’re the only lame-o who didn’t come out to the shore with us besides her could you go see if she’s okay?_

 

Bellamy hadn’t even pretended to put up a fight, because he and Raven both knew that in the end, he was going to go check on her.  It was in his nature, even if she was someone he just barely tolerated, so two hours later he found himself standing in front of her door with several pints of ice cream in a plastic grocery bag dangling from his fingers.  “Hello?” Clarke’s voice echoed strangely on the intercom, rough and unsteady.

 

“Raven sent me,” he said.

 

“Bellamy?  Uh, come in,” she said, and then the door to his right let out a distractingly loud buzz.  She opened her apartment door before he even had a chance to knock and damn, she looked like hell.  Puffy eyes, messy hair, and a pair of pajama pants that were somehow more paint-splattered than her ancient t-shirt.  

 

“Raven was worried,” he said by way of explanation.  “So I brought reinforcements.”

 

Clarke took the grocery bag he was holding out and looked inside suspiciously.  “Chunky Monkey, or Phish food?”

 

“Do you think I’m an amateur?  Both.  Where are your spoons?” he said, pushing past her into her kitchen.  “So what are we watching?”

 

Clarke stared at him like he’d grown a second head.  “I’m still processing that you know where I live.”

 

“Raven sent me your address.  But like I said, what are we watching?”

 

“Right now, _Steel Magnolias_.  Up next is _Armageddon_ , and then we’re moving on to _Titanic_ ,” she said, apparently deciding to just accept his presence.  “And spoons are in that drawer over there.”

 

“So the theme is...?”

 

“Movies that make me cry,” Clarke said drily.  “Hope you’re up for it.”

 

“Bring it, Griffin.”

 

In the end, Clarke barely cried— she was too busy laughing.  They started bantering like they’d been friends for years instead of teammates with an uncertain detente, and she only stopped giggling to sniffle a little when Bruce Willis sacrificed himself.  Bellamy nodded off shortly after they started _Titanic_ and woke up the next morning  to find Clarke had tucked a blanket around his feet.  She was shuffling around the kitchen and the aroma of coffee was filling the air.  

 

He got up and padded over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  “Sorry I crashed last night.  I’ll get out of your hair now.”

 

“Or you could stay,” she said from near the stove.  “I was going to make french toast.”

 

Bellamy sat down at her kitchen table and looked at her critically.  “Why was Raven so worried? You seem fine.  Or at least okay.”

 

Clarke started whisking together the eggs and milk.  “That’s Raven.  She worries.  And it sucks, ending things with Lexa, but this time I saw it coming.  And I was the one to end it, not her, so...I’m okay.  Thanks for coming by, though.  It helped.”  The skillet sizzled as she dropped the sodden pieces of bread on it and she tipped her head towards the coffee pot.  “Want a cup?”

 

Bellamy got up and poured himself one and one for Clarke while he was at it, handing it over and resting his hip against the counter.  “So I guess we’re friends now, huh?”

 

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling.  “I guess we are,” she said, and that was that.

***

 

He swung the axe and the wood split down the middle with a satisfying _crack_.  It was hard to tell with the snow coming down in fat, fluffy flakes, but he thought he caught a flicker of movement near the picture window facing him, like Clarke was watching him.

 

He shook it off and wiped his forehead.  Snowflakes were melting in his hair and dripping down, mixing with his sweat despite the cold.  He had more than enough wood by this point, but he was stalling.  He picked up another log and the door opened.  Clarke had pulled on on her boots and hat but no coat.  She squinted through the swirling snow.  “Hey, Octavia just called,” she yelled across the yard.  “The roads are getting bad so she and Lincoln are staying in a hotel tonight.  She said they’ll be up tomorrow morning first thing.”

 

Bellamy waved in acknowledgment but Clarke didn’t turn around.  “You coming inside ever?”

 

“I want to finish this,” he yelled back.

 

“Aren’t you freezing?”

 

Bellamy shrugged.  His sweatshirt was thick and it wasn’t too cold, even with the snow.  Plus he now had the sudden desire not to be near Clarke and he didn’t really feel like examining that.  She waved and ducked inside just as Bellamy’s phone beeped from his pocket.  He found two missed calls from Octavia and an exasperated text from her that said _answer your phone idiot,_ plus several from Raven.

 

_Raven Reyes_

_2:17pm_

_Awkward heads up: Wells and I think Clarke is on the rebound_

_Raven Reyes_

_2:17pm_

_So maybe keep it in your pants_

_Bellamy Blake_

_2:18pm_

_I resent everything you just implied_

_Bellamy Blake_

_2:18pm_

_And Lexa was months ago.  What makes you think she’s still on the rebound?_

_Raven Reyes_

_2:18pm_

_Just some shit she said.  So be careful._

_Raven Reyes_

_2:18pm_

_You hurt her and there will be pain_

_Bellamy Blake_

_2:19pm_

_Why the fuck would I hurt her?_

_Bellamy Blake_

_2:19pm_

_Again, I resent everything you’re implying._

_Raven Reyes_

_2:19pm_

_Clarke is not as tough as she thinks she is.  I’m just looking out for her._

_Raven Reyes_

_2:19pm_

_And remember: PAIN_

 

Bellamy rolled his eyes at Raven’s warning and shoved his phone back in his pocket.  It bothered him, how their friends sometimes acted like he was a bag of raging hormones.  It was sort of his fault— he did meet them through Raven as a one-night-stand-turned-friend, and he was sort of going through a phase back then where he slept around a lot— but it had been years since he had anything but a serious girlfriend, and he hadn’t even had one of those in over a year.  He split a few more logs and then forced himself to stop and go interact with Clarke like an actual goddamn human adult.

 

To his surprise she was standing in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, her feet clad in snowflake patterned socks that brought a smile to his face.  “I hope you don’t mind--I’m making some cider.  I brought whiskey, too,” she said over her shoulder.  A lock of hair fell across her forehead and she pushed it back impatiently.  

 

Bellamy shook the snow from his hair and focused on unknotting the laces on his boots that were now frozen together with snow.  “That sounds great, actually.  You brought it up?”

 

Clarke hummed in acknowledgement from the stove.  “It was...sort of my dad’s thing.  I haven’t done Christmas in awhile, but thought maybe it was time to give it a shot, you know?”

 

Bellamy laid his sweatshirt near the radiator to dry.  “O said your mom is in...St. Barts?”

 

“St. Lucia,” Clarke corrected.  “My dad used to go all out for Christmas and once he died we just didn’t have it in us to keep it up.  It seemed easier to avoid it entirely.”

 

“What changed?”  He asked, opening a cabinet and pulling down two mugs.

 

Clarke gave a one-shouldered shrug and focused on stirring the cider.  “I miss it.  Him.  I had to break away, but now...I dunno.  It felt like time, you know?  Time to try it.  He’d be sad if he knew we usually spent Christmas ignoring its existence because it was his favorite holiday.  And then O and Lincoln were talking about coming up here, and I figured it was now or never.”  She looked up at him with a sad smile and he had the odd urge to trace her jawline with his finger.

 

Bellamy swallowed and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the counter.  “How much?” he asked brightly.

 

“Do your worst,” she returned.  Bellamy gave both mugs a healthy pour and she ladled the cider in.  “So what now?”

 

Bellamy tipped his head toward the boxes of Christmas decorations.  “Want to give me a hand putting those up?” he said.  He and Octavia had cut down and decorated the tree the night before, but they hadn’t gotten around to putting up the rest of the garlands and decorations, probably because Octavia thought it was a little silly to fully decorate the cabin for only four days.  But Bellamy couldn’t help it— he was a creature of tradition.

 

Clarke eagerly agreed and brought her laptop out of her bedroom to blast Christmas carols.  She was standing on a chair, weaving a garland around the chandelier over the table, when Bellamy realized she was singing along quietly, but in a soft, husky voice that he found he liked.  The cider was hot and warmed his chest, and the whiskey left of a trail of fire on the way down.  He busied himself with the stockings over the fire, and the light was fading outside by the time he refilled his mug with another batch of cider and whiskey.  Clarke was on her second mug too, and her singing was getting louder, something that made him smile to himself.  She produced a giant box of sugar cookies out of nowhere and left it open on the counter.  “I got bored earlier this week,” she said by way of explanation, although the intricately decorated santas, snowflakes, and snowmen showed a lot more talent than he expected from a bored emergency room doctor.

 

He held up a snowman with a patterned scarf made of frosting.  “Bored?” he asked.

 

Clarke giggled.  “I like painting, okay?  I don’t have a lot of outlets for it these days, so yeah, I got bored and went a little overboard.”  

 

Bellamy smiled and bit the snowman’s head off.  “Tastes good,” he said, and her laugh proved infectious.

 

Clarke plopped down cross-legged in front of the box of decorations and carefully lifted out a handful of paper snowflakes.  “I take it these are Octavia’s?” she said.  She sorted them delicately, even though they were, as Octavia liked to observe, “objectively shitty.”

 

“Yeah, we made those when she was...nine, I think?  Nine or ten.”

 

“You basically raised her, didn’t you?” Clarke asked softly.

 

“Kind of.  Our mom worked a lot, so it was mostly just the two of us at home.  Aside from Lolo we didn’t have a lot of family, or not a lot of family my mom talked to, so...yeah, I guess,” he concluded awkwardly.

 

Clarke gave him a half-smile as she peered into the box of decorations.  “My dad would be proud of you, you know.  You have entirely too many decorations for a cabin this small,” she observed.

 

Bellamy sat down across from her with the box of cookies.  He’d eaten half a dozen already, and Clarke started munching mindlessly as they dug through years' worth of Christmas art projects he’d done with Octavia, all with middling results.  “She was five,” he protested when Clarke held up a paper plate covered in cotton balls and raised an amused eyebrow.  

 

“It’s a...snowstorm?” Clarke asked, clearly struggling not to laugh.

 

“Supposed to be Santa, actually,” Bellamy said, and then they both gave in, giggling maybe a little louder than necessary.  

 

“So how did you guys get this cabin, again?” Clarke asked, and Bellamy found himself explaining far more than he intended, down to his last memories of Lolo before his stroke (teaching him to fish in the creek just down the mountain) and his doubts about keeping the cabin.  At some point he laid down on his back and Clarke laid down next to him and they watched the lights reflected from the tree dance on the ceiling as they talked.

 

The cider disappeared and the cookies were more than half gone by the time they pulled themselves off the floor and went back to decorating.  There wasn’t much left— mostly just the snowflakes to stick to the windows— but Bellamy wanted to finish before bed.  They had both switched to straight whiskey and Clarke stumbled a little when she went to put some electric candles on the kitchen table.

 

“Where’s your mistletoe?” Clarke asked, standing on her tiptoes to stick one of Octavia’s snowflakes to the picture window.  Her shoulder brushed his as she rolled back down and Bellamy couldn’t help but notice how she smelled like vanilla.

 

“Nobody hangs up mistletoe.  That’s just a plot device for shitty romantic comedies,” he grumbled.  “Besides, Octavia makes out with Lincoln in front of me too much as it is.  I don’t want to encourage that shit.”  Bellamy pressed the last snowflake to the window, Clarke still practically tucked into his side.

 

Clarke snorted but she didn’t move away.  Bellamy tilted his head down to find she was looking up at him, her lips just inches from his.  His brain was fuzzy, muddled by the whiskey, but the look in her eyes gave him startling clarity.   _We shouldn’t_ , he wanted to say, but just then Clarke closed the distance between them.

 

She tasted sharp, whiskey and cider on her lips and tongue, and Bellamy carefully fitted his hands around her jaw.  He brushed his tongue against hers and she made a soft noise, almost like a sigh, that made his knees feel wobbly.  She slid her hands around his waist and pressed herself against him, pliable and warm.  He angled his head to deepen the kiss and Clarke stepped backwards, guiding them until her back hit the wall.  He wasn’t thinking— he couldn’t, not with her feeling so soft against him.  He braced his arms against the wall and she dragged her lips to his jaw, working her way to nibble at his earlobe.

 

He leaned down and attached his mouth the place where her shoulder met her neck.  Clarke let her head drop back as he tasted her skin, nudging aside her sweater to bare her shoulder.  Her hands slipped underneath his shirt and started roaming his back, soft, needy noises falling from her lips.  He anchored his hand in her hair, holding her head to the side

 

A hazy memory of Raven’s warning emerged from the back of his mind.  “Wait,” he managed.  “We— we shouldn’t.”

 

Clarke looked up at him, her lips swollen and her hair mussed.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“I...uh….you’re drunk,” he said, because _Raven said you’re on the rebound_ would require more explanation than he was up to at the moment.

 

“Not that drunk,” she countered.  “Are you?”

 

“Buzzed,” he admitted, even as he tucked that errant lock of hair back behind her ear.  “But...I shouldn’t.  Not with you like this,” he stumbled.

 

Clarke furrowed her brow.  “Not with me like what?”  Her hands were still resting on his hips, keeping him close, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

 

“You know...vulnerable.  Because of Lexa.”

 

“I’m over her,” she assured him, and rolled up on her toes to kiss him again.  “Besides, it’s not like that matters to you,” she said wryly.  

 

Bellamy lost himself in her for a moment before his brain caught up to what she said.  “Wait, what?” he asked as he wrenched himself back.

 

“You know, you and Raven.  You guys had sex like, two days after she broke up with Finn.”

 

“So?”

 

“So I appreciate the concern, but there’s no need,” she said, bringing her lips close to his.

 

Something cold settled in his gut.  “There’s no need?” he asked, stepping away.

 

“Because I know who you are,” Clarke supplied, and the cold turned to ice.

 

“Right.  Because I’m always up for a fuck,” he snarled.

 

“What? That’s— that’s not what I— what the hell?” she stuttered.

 

“Look, I know how you guys see me.  Is that why you came up here?  Because I’m an easy fuck and you’re lonely?”

 

“Fuck you.”  Clarke’s eyes were hard and she pushed past him, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

 

Bellamy flopped down on the couch, his stomach roiling with a combination of whiskey, cookies, and anger.  He felt stupid; used.  Of course Clarke would know about his _reputation_ ; Jasper couldn’t shut up about it no matter how many times Bellamy pointed out that he hadn’t gone home with someone from a bar in over three years.  But still, he didn’t think she would be that person— he thought...well, he didn’t know what he thought.

 

Fine.  He thought she wanted _him_ , not just anyone.

 

He shifted on the lumpy couch and debated going to sleep in Octavia’s room, but that would just remind him that Octavia wasn’t here, which would remind him of Clarke, and it wasn’t like he was feeling like sleeping anyway.  He was too pissed.  He punched the pillow behind his head and flipped to his side, wishing he hadn’t liked kissing her so much.

 

He also wished he hadn’t enjoyed hanging out with her so much.  In fact, the fun they’d had had seemed real.  It was like the night he stopped by her place over the summer; easy and natural in a way that got under his skin.  

 

For the rest of the night he tossed and turned.  It was well after three when he decided that Clarke was leaving in the morning, whether she wanted to or not.  Maybe she really was looking forward to Christmas for the first time in years, but Bellamy couldn’t stand looking at her and knowing how little she thought of him.  With that resolved, he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

 

The next morning the sound of luggage wheels across hardwood floors woke him.  His head was throbbing and his stomach felt like pure acid, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.  “I’m leaving,” Clarke announced crisply.  He couldn’t tell if she knew he was awake or was trying to wake him up, but either way he was already pissed.

 

“Good,” he mumbled, but then he looked out the window.

 

Snow must have been falling steadily all night, and the hood of Clarke’s car had at least a foot of fresh snow.  He reached for his phone and blinked at it blearily, realizing he again had a missed call from Octavia plus three missed texts.

 

_Octavia Blake_

_8:51am_

_Fuck roads are still closed_

_Octavia Blake_

_8:53am_

_Why aren’t you answering your phone?_

_Octavia Blake_

_8:57am_

_Okay like I said roads are still closed.  We’re going to hope they open them later today.  :( :( :(_

 

Bellamy swore to himself just as Clarke slammed the front door.  He hurriedly jammed his feet into his boots and grabbed his sweatshirt from the radiator, following her out into the still-falling snow.  “You can’t leave,” he yelled from the front step.

 

Clarke was struggling through knee-deep drifts to her sleek black Mercedes.  “Like hell I can’t,” she yelled back.  She pulled open the back door and set off a mini-avalanche of snow.

 

Bellamy waded towards her as the snow soaked into his henley.  “The roads are closed.  You literally can’t leave.”

 

“I’ll figure something out.”  She slammed her door, releasing another sheet of snow from the roof of the car.

 

“The roads are closed and none of the other cabins are open,” he pointed out.  

 

Clarke let out a guttural screech of annoyance.  “So what, I’m supposed to stay here?  With you?”

 

“I’m not happy about it either,” he snapped.

 

Clarke pulled her luggage out of her car and slammed the door again.  “Then don’t talk to me.”

 

“Fine.”  He let her struggle past him.  “Merry Fucking Christmas,” he muttered, and followed her back inside.

 

Bellamy’s mood soured as the day went on, which was impressive considering he woke up furious.  Clarke had retreated to the bedroom and closed the door, only coming out to grab food from the fridge.  He could hear the faint sounds of some TV show she must be watching on her laptop, but she never spoke to him.

 

Not that he ever spoke to her, either.  Part of him wanted to, to just have it out and be done with it, but he’d be damned if he broke first.  Bellamy had a tendency to brood, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself.  He had no other distractions, and to make matters worse the snow had not let up all day.  There was no chance of Octavia and Lincoln making it up by that night, and best case scenario they wouldn’t be up until the middle of the day on Christmas.  It was silly and a little childish, but it meant the first Christmas since she was born that Bellamy wouldn’t be there to see her first thing on Christmas morning.  Octavia would roll her eyes at that, but still— it felt weird, and it was one more reminder that things were changing, and rapidly.  Octavia and Lincoln would be getting engaged soon (Lincoln had sent him a cryptic email asking if they could talk at the cabin; Bellamy wasn’t a fucking idiot.  He knew what that meant) and starting their own traditions.  Their Christmases at the cabin were numbered, and Bellamy’s life was stalled.  His dissertation was plodding along, but that meant he was stuck making a TA’s salary at age thirty while everyone else around him was getting married, having kids, and growing up— even his baby sister.  Meanwhile, he was still in college (grad school, but really, what was the difference?) and everyone, including Clarke, thought he was a slut.

 

He decided that he’d had enough and pulled on his jacket and hat to go for a walk.  It was slow going and the snow was up to his knees now, but the air was crisp and cold.  It burned into his lungs and the tightness in his chest eased a little.  He crossed the yard to the trail through the woods, the sharp scent of pine surrounding him.  The snow muffled everything except for his breathing and within minutes, he felt a little calmer.  

 

He stopped in a clearing, puffs of steam rising from his lips, and looked up at the pale grey sky.  Fat snowflakes fluttered down, catching in his eyelashes and landing on his lips.  

 

“Bellamy?”  Clarke’s voice was soft, hesitant.  Sad.  She was behind him, but he kept his eyes on the sky.

 

“What?” he replied, not turning around.

 

“Can we talk?”

 

“You didn’t want to talk when we were both inside instead of out in a snowstorm?”

 

“I was going to, but you left.”

 

Bellamy curled his hands into fists and turned around, forcing himself to look at her.  She was wearing a soft grey hat, but her boots were unlaced and her jacket unzipped, like she’d thrown them on in a hurry.  “So talk,” he gritted out.

 

“That wasn’t what I meant.  Last night.  What you— what you thought I wanted.”

 

“This your version of an apology, princess?”

 

“It’s an explanation,” she said with a hint of frostiness. “But I’ve been texting with Raven, and...I get why you thought that.”  She took a tentative step toward him across the clearing.  “I wasn’t— I didn’t want you because I figured you’d be up for it.  And I’m not on the rebound, no matter what Raven thinks.”  She took another step, and then another, until she was standing right in front of him.  “So could we try this again?”

 

“Try what?”

 

“Talking,” she said, but her gaze dropped to his lips for just a split second.

 

“Then talk, he said, his jaw still clenched tight.  He didn’t want her to be so close to him.

 

Or maybe he did.

 

Clarke’s breath rose in front of her as she sighed.  “I’m bad at this,” she mumbled.  “I thought we understood each other, but we didn’t, and— and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.  But I didn’t mean what you thought.”

 

“Then what did you mean?”

 

“I meant, I know you.  I know you wouldn’t take advantage me.  You’re kind, even if you like to pretend you’re not, because you came over to take care of me when Lexa and I broke up, even though you hated me then.  And you trust women to make their own choices about rebounding,” she added a little pointedly.  “You’re a good guy, Bellamy, and I like that.  I like you.  That’s what I meant,” she said, taking his gloved hand in hers.   

 

Bellamy dropped his eyes to their clasped hands.  He could barely feel her fingers through the thick layers, but the strength in her grip was sure.  “Oh,” he muttered.

 

“Oh,” she teased, smiling for the first time since last night.

 

“Oh,” he said, echoing her tone.  A grin played at the corner of his lips and he tugged her closer until her chest bumped against his.  This time, he was the one to close the distance between them, dipping his head down to kiss her softly.  Her lips and nose were cold but when her mouth opened to allow him access she was nothing but warmth, a fire that ignited his veins.

 

He reached inside her coat and drew her close, but she broke the kiss and glanced upwards.  “Hey look— mistletoe,” she whispered.  

 

Bellamy grinned, not bothering to look up.  “Mistletoe doesn’t grow up here,” he whispered back.  “But points for trying.”

 

Clarke tried pout but her smile kept creeping back.  “You’re supposed to play along,” she complained.

 

“Sorry.”  He didn’t sound the slightest bit apologetic as he nipped at her lower lip.  

 

She broke away again, that same exaggerated look of frustration on her face. “Moment-ruiner,” she accused.

 

“Liar,” he threw back, and then they were kissing again, long and deep, but eventually his brain caught up with his body.  “We should stop,” he whispered.  Clarke pulled back and arched an eyebrow, making him smile.  “I just mean— you’re freezing, it’s snowing out, and we have a cabin all to ourselves,” he said, giving her a quick peck on the tip of her nose.

 

Clarke snuggled into him as they walked back but blew off his suggestion of zipping her coat by dragging him until he was pinned to a tree and kissing him fiercely.  He had to admit, he liked being able to slid his hands around her waist without her coat in the way, but eventually practically won out and he towed her across the yard and into the cabin.  

 

Clarke almost fell over in her haste to take off her boots, hopping around on one foot and making him laugh.  He let his jacket, hat and gloves stay where they fell and kicked off his boots.  He caught her up in his arms and kissed her, languidly at first but then with more heat as she returned the kiss.  He tugged the knit cap from her head and carefully pushed her hair back from her face, damp and cold from the snow, working out the tangles the wind had created.  He brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones and took a moment to look at her.  Clarke’s fingers curled into this thick red flannel, waiting.  Her cheeks were stained pink from the cold, her lips pale pink and parted, her eyes so bright blue his breath caught in his throat.

 

The enormity of everything hit him all at once.  This wasn’t just attraction, or the chemistry he had never dared acknowledge bubbling over.  Things between them— when they weren’t snarling at each other— were too easy, too good.  This wasn’t a one time thing, or even a hesitant beginning.  This was something more, and he knew that with heart stopping clarity.

 

Clarke brought her hands up to frame his face as well.  “Yeah, I know,” she whispered, reading his mind.  “This is—” she broke off, distracted, her fingertip tracing the bow of his lips.

 

Bellamy kissed her finger delicately.  “This is a lot,” he finished.

 

“It is.”  Clarke arched her neck up and met his lips with hers, and it was over.  Or more accurately, it began.  They couldn’t get enough of each other and almost tripped together several times as they raced to undress each other.  They didn’t even make it to the bedroom, instead giving in to their need right there on the living room floor.  The Christmas tree reflected multicolored lights on their skin, and their sighs mingled with the crackle of the fire while they chased each other into oblivion.

 

After, Bellamy twisted his arm to reach the blanket that lay haphazardly on the couch behind them and draped it over where their legs were entangled.  “I know this probably goes against the whole Christmas-is-for-tradition thing you’ve got going on, but that was fun,” Clarke giggled.

 

Bellamy drew her across his chest and kissed the top of her head.  “We could always make it a new tradition.  Sex in front of the Christmas tree.  I could get into that,” he replied.

 

Clarke looked up at him and bit her lip.  “Me too.  But—” she broke off and wrinkled her nose.  “Not that this isn’t lovely and picturesque and all, but there are two empty beds in this house.  And we’re on the floor.”

 

“You insulting my floor?”

 

“Yes, yes I am,” she deadpanned.  

 

Bellamy heaved a mock sigh.  “Fine.”  He tossed the blanket back onto the couch and chased Clarke, squealing and laughing, into his bedroom.  She dove under the covers and he followed, pulling her tight against him.  The sheets were cold but her skin was warm, and before long he was kissing her again.

  
***

 

The bed shifting woke him the next morning, and he found Clarke tugging the covers up over her shoulder as she climbed in.  “Where’d you go?” he mumbled.

 

“Something I promised Octavia.”  

 

Bellamy frowned and sat up, and sure enough, there was a stack of presents waiting at the foot of his bed.  “Did you wrap those?  Yesterday?”

 

Clarke sat up with him and fit her arms around his waist from behind.  “Yeah.  I considered just throwing them at you, but I’d promised Octavia that I’d wrap them and drop them off at your bed if she couldn’t get back in time.  And I didn’t think I could text her and say ‘sorry, tried to bang your brother and now we’re not speaking,’ so I did it anyway,” she said, her chin resting on his shoulder.  “There’s one from me, too.  I didn’t know if we were giving each other presents when Octavia invited me, but—”

 

“I got one for you too,” he admitted.  “But it’s not wrapped.  Not yet.”  

 

Clarke reached out to the nightstand and grabbed her laptop, which she must have gotten when she snuck out to get the presents.  “I also promised Octavia you’d skype with her while you open presents, but I’m guessing she doesn’t want to see me in your shirt.  So you call her, I’ll make pancakes, and then we’ll do each other’s presents.”

 

Clarke climbed out of the bed and pulled on a pair of his socks, thick and woolen, the only thing on her bare legs.  His flannel shirt hung down over her hips and she grinned, leaning back over to give him one last, lingering kiss.  “Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”

 

And against all odds, it was.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to CC for her help with Tagalog, and my betas L and B for their assistance in plotting out this fic (I'll name them in full on my tumblr once my identity can be safely revealed). Couldn't have done it without you, ladies!


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